


Don't Mess With the Camisole

by Magik3



Series: Katyana Future Middle-Age [2]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 13:56:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10698423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magik3/pseuds/Magik3
Summary: Illyana's just back from quelling a demon uprising and Kitty's exploring the wonder of camisoles.





	Don't Mess With the Camisole

**Author's Note:**

> This is incomplete -- many apologies! (Posting for a friend.) Also it's in the future where Kitty and Illyana are middle-aged and happily together.

I teleported into the backyard of the mansion, hoping the sulfur smell would dissipate before I got inside. Having put down a minor demon uprising, I was nine kinds of dirty -- not one of them the fun kind. My priority list went: hot shower, many burgers, Kitty.  
  
I managed to not limp past a gaggle of young students. They stared anyway, turning to watch until I'd ascended the stairs. I couldn’t blame them. My jeans were missing half a leg and shredded across one thigh and part of my ass. I'd lost my jacket mid-fight when one of the demons lit it on fire. At least my t-shirt was decent enough, only raked through in a couple of places, not flashing the kids anything more than my abs.  
  
Shirt, jeans and the rest of me was liberally smeared with ash, dirt, mud, dust and some form of swamp grime; speckled with blood (not mine, mostly); singed with acid demon spit; dripped with drool; and imbued from below with a thick layer of sweat. I really hoped the tangle of hair at the back of my head was matted with plant sap and not bird crap.  
  
I made it up to the room I shared with Kitty and opened the door.  
  
Kitty turned from the mirror to me, beaming, asking, "Why did nobody tell me about the utility of camisoles?" And then, smile gone, "Are you okay?"  
  
Kitty was in a white camisole, edged with a whisper of lace, mostly cotton, slightly ribbed, riding up to show a flash of belly between its lower edge and the matching panties. The bright white brought out the warm tones in her skin, emphasized the richness of her dark brown hair that she’d caught back in a ponytail. The camisole was doing an unbelievable job of lifting and framing her breasts.  
  
New priority list: Kitty.  
  
I couldn't look away, but I fumbled behind me and managed to get the door closed and locked. One step toward her and I paused. I should go around her, get in the shower, but I couldn't get near her without being overwhelmed with the need to touch her.  
  
She came to me, touched a scratch on my cheek. "How hurt are you?" she asked.  
  
This close she was all camisole and curves, the smell of her hair, the slender muscles of her arms and shoulders. I wanted to touch everywhere.  
  
"I ... um," I made myself look up, meet Kitty's eyes. "I might need to lie down."  
  
"You," Kitty said, half exhaspiration, half wonder as my meaning registered. A grin ghosted across her lips. She bent and brushed my mouth with hers.  
  
My hands went up her back, under the camisole, soft material whispering over my knuckles, hot skin under my fingers. Her hands were on the sides of my face, strong fingers holding me in place while her tongue parted my lips.  
  
I moved a hand to her belly, rising toward her breast, but she caught my wrist. She's not as solid as I am, even when she's fully materialized, but more than strong enough to stop me when I want her to. She nuzzled the side of my face, took a long breath in. Smelling the blood, the char and sulfur, the sweat? She sighed, pulled herself away holding both my wrists.  
  
"Don't mess with the camisole," she said, wickedness glinting in her eyes.  
  
I growled and moved for her, but she danced away, holding my hands away from the pristine white cotton. She pulled, I advanced until we were beside the bed. I wanted to push her down on it but she slid neatly to the side and used my momentum to drop me onto the sheets.  
  
I rose to my elbows but she was already on me, pinning my wrists, the force of her kiss pushing me back down. Her weight rested on her hands where they held my wrists and her knees as she hovered over me. I was trying not to buck up toward her, failing. Trying not to moan against her mouth, failing.  
  
She paused, leaned back, still on her knees above me, not touching. I ground my teeth I needed her so intensely, but I wanted to stay in this space she was creating, the playfulness, the stark white of the camisole and panties above the mess of me. She pulled the tie off her ponytail and shook her hair loose. I had to close my eyes and catch my breath. When I opened them, she was smiling down at me.  
  
"What parts of you are clean?" she asked.  
  
"Mouth," I suggested, looking pointedly at her panties.  
  
She laughed. "Love, you have the dirtiest mouth of anyone I know."  
  
I replied with a few eloquent, filthy Russian phrases. She understood enough that her eyebrows rose appreciatively.  
  
"You kiss your girlfriend with that mouth?" she asked.  
  
"Anywhere she wants."  
  
With a murmured purring sound, she leaned down to kiss me again. I knotted my fists in the sheet to keep from touching her, then realized I had enough loose material on one side to wrap my hand. I put my sheet-gloved hand on her ass and pushed her upward until I could duck my head and reach her breast. She sagged toward me, caught herself, as I rubbed my lips across her nipple where it pushed up under the thin cotton.  
  
Trailing my hand down the back of her thigh, I pushed again. She didn't resist, let me position her above me, panties in reach of my mouth. She smelled of clean salt, like the Sea of Okhotsk in winter, then an undertone of honeysuckle in midsummer, herbaceous and sweet. I pressed up into her. The thin cloth was soaked through already. My world focused down on that stretch of cotton. She was grinding down at me, catching herself, pulling up and then groaning and pressing down on me again.  
  
Behind the thin layer of fabric I found her clit , hard between my lips. I wanted to make her come, feel her wet on my skin. But her body slipped, I heard her breath catch and she twisted sideways. I glanced up and saw her arm half-way through the headboard.       
  
"Katya, look at me."  
  
Her face turned, a flash of alarmed anger, ready to argue with me. She didn't like when she lost control of her phasing power. Neither did I, but only because that meant she could end up phasing through me and the bed and the floor. She'd moved rooms to one that was over a storage space after the time she’d accidentally phased both of us into the library. I can teleport fast enough to avoid many things, but embarrassment is not one.  
  
"Touch me," I told her.  
  
She hissed in frustration and pulled her arm of the headboard. Ghostly fingers brushed my cheek, solidifying against my skin. I brushed my fingertips over the back of her hand.  
  
"See, all good."  
  
"I wish," she said.  
  
“If you let me mess up the camisole, I bet I can keep you solid,” I said.


End file.
